


Grasp

by jeejaschocolate



Series: Lordly [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blow Jobs, Collars, Dom/sub Play, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Melkor going insane, References to Canon-Typical Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3094556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeejaschocolate/pseuds/jeejaschocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Melkor descends into madness, Sauron does what only he can do to hold him together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grasp

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back for another one of these. Actually, it hurts me to write Melkor like this, but the canon paints a pretty clear picture of this, especially in "Morgoth's Ring." Guess it was time to work through some of that!

  
The years were not kind or pleasant to Melkor. Though he was immortal, time crept up on him and changed him into a creature he had never intended to become. His thoughts turned ever darker, ever more intent on destruction. He knew, perhaps, on some level, that the destruction of Beleriand would not bring him any gains, not really, for there would be no levers upon which to bend all towards his authority. Still, he was driven forward by his hatred of the Eldar. He hated their lingering resistance, their skillfulness, and of course their obvious favor in the eyes Illuvatar, whom Melkor knew had long since abandoned him.  
  
He spent near all of his time sitting in his throne, listening to word from his servants, hearing of the goings-on in each region of Beleriand. His mind was bent ever toward Gondolin, constantly imagining its demise. Melkor saw in his mind’s eye a burning city of white, Noldor fleeing in tears and rags, the high king Turgon with a severed head fit to be brandished on the tip of a sword.  
  
Yet such dark thoughts offered him no relief against the constantly building terror within him. His dreams had turned so dark that Melkor tried to avoid sleep altogether, for as long as he could, but then he found that his mind played tricks on him from the lack of rest. At times, he would be residing on his throne as usual, when he would suddenly envision the maddening, stifling darkness of the Voids once again...and then the Dark Lord would find himself screaming in pain as if the vision were real. Not even the frightful, unsure eyes of his court were enough to stop this from happening, though Melkor hated them all for staring so. Many creatures lost their lives for the crime of looking upon the Dark Lord when he went into such fits, for Melkor had no qualms about punishing his own servants. He saw only the need to smote out all those who would judge him harshly, as he had been so judged by the likes of his own kind for his whole existence.  
  
In every crevice of the fortress, lurking, out of the corner of his eye, Melkor saw Mandos looming threateningly, waiting with an armful of chains to bind him. This caused him to thrash at shadows, hiss into the darkness. Every time a rush of wind howled through the corridors, Melkor heard the beating of the wings of Thorondor and the rest of Manwë’s eagles. He would shiver and hold his hands against his ears to stop the sound.  
  
Melkor carried with him always this fear of demise. His hatred doubled with each painful stab to his pride that came with each vision. The Maiar and servants under his sway could offer him no counsel against these thoughts, for they themselves could not understand what it was that only Melkor seemed to hear or see.  
  
The only exception to this was, of course, Sauron. Because Melkor allowed Sauron to see his thoughts at times, the fears that seized him were no secret to his lieutenant. Only a look from Melkor was enough for Sauron to understand what vision, what thought it was that plagued his lord. Seeing his lord agitated so enticed Sauron to keep constantly busy. As an unfortunate result, he was often away from the fortress on errands, cultivating Melkor’s presence throughout Beleriand. Indeed, the best intelligence reports came from Sauron and no creature contested that.  
  
As Sauron’s absence grew long, Melkor found his body losing interest in a great many things he had once desired above all else. Even this became capricious. He longed for Sauron at times when the Maia was far away, yet when Sauron was present and offering himself to his lord, Melkor would swat him away in disinterest. There was no way for Melkor to predict his wants, for he had fallen far out of touch with his own body. At times a whirlwind of agonized lust would start up in him again and he would desperately seek out Sauron for attention.  
  
Being dominated was now a kind of balm for Melkor. It was the only thing that distracted him from the spiraling visions, the only way for him to ward off the strange acts and irrational decisions that became his nature. Sauron’s domineering presence lurked in his mind as well and he would latch onto it to remember moments of pleasure.  
  
Time itself blended into fleeting moments of emotion that passed through Melkor like sudden changes of weather. Even so, there came a time when Melkor was residing upon his throne in a state of near sleep, soothing himself with images of the Nirnaeth Anoediad, remembering the mounds of burning man bodies left in the wake of his armies. He was using these memories to stave off sleep, feeling the edges of his vision blurring into blackness ever-so like that of the Voids...  
  
...then there came to him a feeling of being stroked with warm flame. The heat from the fire caressed his body and Melkor awoke from his tortured reverie to find himself staring face to face with Sauron. His lieutenant stood before him in full battle armor, holding his infamous helmet in one hand. His fiery eyes burned brightly, shining with something Melkor had no words for but that he could recognize easily enough on Sauron’s face. This was the thing between them that they did not speak of, for Melkor did not know the words for it in any tongue. He knew only the look in his lieutenant’s eyes and the responding feeling that kindled within the Dark Lord at the sight...  
  
“What are you smiling at, Sauron?” Melkor grumbled, fighting down a surge of longing as he looked upon the Maia. He was angry with Sauron, actually, for the lieutenant had been away long...at least it felt long to him in his confused state...  
  
“It is good to lay eyes upon thee,” Sauron responded easily. With his free hand, the Maia reached out and lightly touched the Vala’s cheek.  
  
Melkor’s eyes threatened to close against the pleasant sensation that ran through him at the touch. But in the last second before he did, a flash of something shimmered at the edge of his sight. He turned his face sharply to meet it and saw nothing, but the memory of the glimmer reminded him of Fëanor, the beauty of all the jewels he had created, the Silmarils, and Fëanor’s smug, toothy grin when he turned him away in Formenos all those years ago...  
  
Hatred boiled within the Vala. He turned back angrily to Sauron and demanded, “Where have you been for such a long time?”  
  
Sauron dropped his hand and laid his helmet carefully on the ground beside him. He looked away. “Commanding thine armies, my lord,” he said evenly. “As thou hast bid me.”  
  
Melkor vaguely remembered giving such an order, but he was not interested in that. He sat back in his throne and surveyed Sauron fully. He remembered the words his lieutenant had just spoken, ‘it is good to lay eyes upon thee,’ and they echoed in his mind. It was good, very good, enough to make his Vala’s soul quiver within the confines of his flesh, to lay eyes upon Sauron again. That strong, domineering body, accentuated by the black, cruel metal of his armor...Melkor purred in satisfaction without being aware of it.  
  
Recognizing the sound, Sauron stood taller, letting his form loom all the more menacingly, which Melkor greatly approved of. The Maia’s eyes gleamed with an unmistakable look of lust. Melkor felt that perhaps he would give in again this time, because his lieutenant was hardly resistible when he was like this...  
  
“I have crafted something.” Sauron announced this without preamble.  
  
Melkor blinked, trying to decide if he should be interested. “Have you.”  
  
“Yes. A gift.”  
  
Now Melkor was interested. Gifts from Sauron were always intriguing, especially things that he had crafted with his own wizardly hands. As he looked on, Sauron pulled something from beneath his chest-plate, as if whisking it mysteriously out of nowhere. In his hand was a small circlet of black metal, plain, without pattern, except for a single deep groove that ran through the center of the circle all the way around. The circlet was joined at two ends by a large clasp that would be difficult to undo.  
  
“This is for you.” Sauron’s voice had changed quality. No longer the obedient servant, he was now using a tone that made Melkor yield to to him.  
  
Melkor looked back up at Sauron with a wide, curious gaze. “What is its purpose?”  
  
Sauron grinned. “I will show you.” With that, the Maia’s look turned dark, a face he used when giving orders, one that his Vala recognized well.  
  
He gave the usual commands. “Disrobe. Kneel before me.”  
  
Melkor complied with both, shedding his garments with shaking hands. His body felt weaker now, and the marble ground near his throne was cold and unyielding against his knees, a sensation that shook him to his core. The excitement he felt at being commanded was muted by the chill all around him, but internally his energy swirled with anticipation.  
  
Before Melkor could get down on his hands, Sauron stopped him by grabbing his shoulders. He gave another command, “Stop. Stay just like this.”  
  
So Melkor kneeled, holding his torso up despite the discomfort. He relished the jolt of pain, knowing that this was what Sauron wanted from him in that moment. The Vala was eye-level with Sauron’s groin, a position that made his mouth water. Being so close to that intimate part of Sauron’s lordly figure...Melkor felt a strong swell of arousal within him. He shook against the desire to mouth at his lieutenant’s armor, he wanted to taste that jagged metal for himself...  
  
Sauron stroked Melkor’s face again. This time Melkor let himself relish the touch. He let out a long breath and licked his lips, imagining any part of Sauron filling his mouth.  
  
Letting his hand come to rest against Melkor’s chin, Sauron pushed the Vala’s face upward to meet his gaze. The Maia’s eyes were impassable, as always when they played like this, but Melkor was sure that his own eyes smoldered with longing.  
  
“Look what I have made for you,” Sauron said, bringing the metal circlet so near to Melkor’s face that his nose almost touched it.  
  
From this close distance, Melkor could feel the metal radiating with some of Sauron’s own energy, as all his metalworks did. But this was especially strong. Some of Sauron’s very scent lingered upon that metal, and Melkor’s senses trembled when he recognized it. Unable to hold back, Melkor let his face fall into Sauron’s palm, rubbing the metal against his cheek, trying to engulf himself in that essence.  
  
“You like it.” Sauron let Melkor continue for a bit. As the Vala ran his mouth along the breadth of the circlet, Sauron pulled his hand away abruptly and said, “Good. Now let me show you where this belongs.”  
  
Melkor remained completely still as Sauron undid the clasp and held the circlet open. He shivered when Sauron brought the metal against his neck, both at the cold bite of it and the feeling of his Maia’s essence right up against his sensitive flesh. Without ceremony, Sauron wrapped the metal around his throat and closed the clasp. He moved back when he was done to admire his work.  
  
The Vala sighed, embracing the strangely tantalizing feel of the collar on his throat. He felt bound firmly, as low as he had ever been in Sauron’s power. But it felt also like being held together, as if the metal had gathered all the loosening pieces of his soul and sanity and pulled them tightly together to form one complete being, a picture of submission before Sauron.  
  
“Beautiful...”  
  
The word came as a sigh from Sauron, a deep rumble in his throat. Melkor had never heard his lieutenant call anything beautiful, it was not in his nature to account beauty of any importance, nor had Melkor thought Sauron capable of realizing the prettiness in any part of the world. Yet, there was no mistaking that that was what Sauron said as he took in the sight of his Vala.  
  
And such a sight it had to be. The Dark Lord on his knees, eyes clouded from a myriad of sensation, wearing nothing but the metal collar Sauron his lieutenant had smithed for him.  
  
All at once, Melkor realized how hard he had become from this alone. He held his hands firmly behind his back, assuming that position out of instinct, and he gripped his arms tightly to keep from running them along his body out of need.  
  
For a brief second, the Vala felt shame in himself for being so vulnerable and so aroused. He would crumble from humiliation and banish himself to the deep parts of the earth if any other creature ever saw him like this, especially the Valar or the Noldor. He cringed at the vision that came into his head at such a thought.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Sauron asked, seeing discomfort on Melkor’s features. “Are you not pleased?”  
  
But Melkor had no words for what he felt. “I...am...” Speech eluded him as his thoughts darted to and fro, affixing images in his mind, some disturbing and some arousing.  
  
“Are you ashamed?” Sauron asked, approaching Melkor again until he was within reach.  
  
“I...” Again the Vala struggled to answer. He wanted Sauron to enter his mind then, to save time, and so that he would understand without words.  
  
Sauron held Melkor’s chin in his hand again, forcing him to make eye contact. “You belong to me. You know this. This is here...” Sauron fingered the metal collar as he spoke. “...to remind you of that fact. You will wear it only in my presence, but I will leave it with you. So you may remember who you are bound to, even when I am away.”  
  
The two Ainur stared at each intensely for a silent moment.  
  
Then Sauron was removing armor and his codpiece, pulling out his hard member. This close to his face, Melkor did not need to be told what to do. He covered Sauron’s cock with his mouth, driving down on him with full force. The Maia hissed in response, wrapping a metal-covered hand in Melkor’s hair.  
  
The feeling of going down on Sauron made Melkor’s body tingle with pleasure. He moaned around the hardness in his mouth, using his tongue to lavish as much attention as he could against that formidable length.  
  
As he worked, Sauron ran his hand along the back of Melkor’s neck. He stroked the collar and rocked his hips, both Ainur beginning to lose themselves in the pleasure such an act brought them. Sauron managed to fit his finger inside the slack of the collar against the clasp. He pulled backward, forcing the collar to strain Melkor’s throat but not enough to pull him off.  
  
Feeling the metal tighten against his throat, Melkor began to work even harder. It was getting difficult to breathe, but the Vala did not care. The tighter the collar gripped him, the more his cock throbbed. He would take whatever Sauron would give him.  
  
“You are mine.” Sauron spoke now through gritted teeth. Melkor knew enough about his Maia to sense that he was close to climax. “Everything that you do...everything that you experience...all of it belongs to me.”  
  
Melkor heard Sauron’s words and realized what his Maia was saying. Everything...even when he fell into fits, even the relentless visions. Everything that made up Melkor’s tortured existence, sane and insane alike, Sauron would have all of it.  
  
Assurance and a strange calmness rushed through the Vala. This was what it felt like, relief at Sauron’s side. How he had craved this, how he would never stop craving this.  
  
Pulling away with a moan, Melkor looked up at Sauron and said, “Of course. My lord.”  
  
Truthfully, Melkor wanted nothing more than to make his lord come right then. So, as Sauron watched, Melkor took him again in his mouth, using all of the strength left in his form. Sauron climaxed with a loud groan more like an animalistic howl, holding Melkor’s face between his hands.  
  
When he was finished, Sauron hoisted the Vala up and over to the throne so that he could rest in his lap, a comfortable and familiar position for them.  
  
“Now,” Sauron began, running his hands all across Melkor’s desperate, aching form. “Feel everything I am about to give you.”  
  
Sauron’s essence hovered around Melkor, grasping him in an embrace and penetrating him as far as the Dark Lord would allow.  
  
“Can you feel that?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
It was the exact touch that Melkor needed, comforted within and without. Of course his lord had known what to give. For as long as they were together, the collar still firmly in place on his neck, Melkor knew nothing else.

**Author's Note:**

> Not really relevant, but I when I wrote this I was listening to the Dragon Age: Inquisition soundtrack, particularly the track "The Lost Temple" (from the level where you go into the Temple of Mythal). For some reason that song gave me a lot of inspiration. Check it out if you can, it's worth it!
> 
> Also, I'm personally not big into collaring kink, but let's be real, we all know that Melkor ends up in a collar in the actual canon. So there should definitely be collaring of some kind in this ship.


End file.
